


Honestly, Seventh Year is a Mess (and that was before Scorpius Malfoy and his Infuriating Smirks)

by ladanse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Exams, F/M, Fluff, N.E.W.T.'s, No one has any chill, Potions, Quidditch, Stress, an inn called the dancing shoe, can you tell i'm currently applying to college: the fanfic, rose is bisexual and black, smirking, warning: curly hair, which is the first thing that needs to be established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladanse/pseuds/ladanse
Summary: a monologue by Rose Weasley, with a brief addendum by Scorpius Malfoy.(otherwise known as, the five times Scorpius smirked at Rose, and one time that karma was truly a bitch)





	

**Author's Note:**

> slightly belated birthday fic for the amazing lovely and badass will @phoenixexploded - sorry this is late and I love u babe <3

 

 

 

October is a bad month for N.E.W.T. students.

 

It's not just that all the important planetary events are neatly lined up, making the life of any Astronomy student a living hell, and particularly when her partner is - shall we say - uncooperative. Seventh year in general, as (almost every) wizarding student knows, is a gift directly from Voldemort himself.

 

Between studying for N.E.W.T.'s, captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team, applying to internships at Ministries across Europe, and preparing a final project in her three primary N.E.W.T. classes, Rose Granger-Weasley had no time whatsoever to herself, and even less time for a relationship, thank you very much. She was sure there would be better Plimpies to fry in the slightly larger pond of the German Alchemical Ministry.

 

This is what she had told Jonathan Bones, Hestia Smith, and Eddie Thomas, over the course of her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, with responses that ranged from a sigh and a kiss on the cheek (Johnny), cold anger melting into stifling awkwardness (Eddie), and a proposition for being "friends-with-benefits" (Hestia) which she had laughed at and then turned down.

 

"It's because hating on the Slytherins takes up too much of your time," says Hestia, easily. The Ravenclaw is right, as she always is; it's part of the reason why Rose broke up with her. There's really only room for one of them to be frighteningly smart at a time.

 

"I don't care about the Slytherins," Rose denies, anyway, and Hestia rolls her eyes. "They, and more specifically, certain Astronomy partners who shall remain unnamed, can stick their heads up their own arses for all I care. Although, considering they've already done that - "

 

"All right, Weasley?" says a familiar voice, and something in Rose lights up, ready for a fight. Hestia takes one look down the hallway, says "I need to speak with Professor Longbottom," and books it in the direction of the Great Hall.

 

That's the other reason they broke up. Everyone knows Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy are a package deal; you can't get one without hatred of the other. For some reason, ~~most~~ all of Rose's last romantic entanglements have had some trouble understanding that fact.

 

Case in point.

 

"I was, until you got here," says Rose, launching immediately into their standard script.

 

"You wound me," says Scorpius, eyes glittering. His clothing is, of course, immaculate, tie designer, hair falling in carefully sculpted, white-blonde waves across his forehead.

 

"Good," says Rose. "Is there a reason you're talking to me?"

 

"Yes," says Scorpius, and Rose prepares herself for yet _another_ taunt about Saturday's game -

 

"Professor Sinistra told me Venus and Mars will be in alignment tonight. We can finish gathering the magic-source energy emissions data tonight."

 

"But Betelgeuse is rising," says Rose, shocked into reason. "We can't. It's bad luck."

 

"I thought you didn't cleave to old pureblood superstition," says Scorpius, and Rose's face grows steadily red with anger, her hands balling into fists. His lips tilt upwards, slowly, into a damnably familiar smirk. "See you tonight," he says, and then he's gone.

 

(Rose will vehemently deny any knowledge the mysteriously destroyed statue of Wickham the Wicked found by the prefects the next morning.)

 

*

 

November is a horrible month for N.E.W.T. students.

 

"For an apprenticeship at the Alchemical Ministry, we ask for a peer recommendation," the parchment reads out to her in a pleasant, if bland, male voice with a slight German accent. "We recommend the recommender be a witch or wizard with whom you have spent significant amounts of time, and who will be able to describe your mien while in workshop; your alchemical second is the most appropriate choice."

 

Rose avoids both Potions and Arithmancy for a solid week. Professor Vector sends her a Howler, which she has to run outside to dispose of in the freezing Scotland rain. She's shivering in the slightly sheltered Hogwarts entrance pavilion when he finds her.

 

"Throw your game with Hufflepuff," he says, equably, "and I'll write you a good one."

 

"No. Also, how do you even know about that," asks Rose, but it's a pointless question and she knows it.

 

"I have my ways," he says.

 

"Spying on me, you mean." She really shouldn't have introduced him to the idea of magical bugging.

 

"Of course! Only the best for the Granger-Weasley."

 

"I'm touched."

 

"I thought you would be," he says. His entire body is relaxed, hands tucked safely into the pockets of his robes, as he looks over at her. "You should use a Drying Charm," he adds, helpfully.

 

"I left my wand in the Great Hall," she says, stubbornly controlling her chattering teeth.

 

He rolls his eyes. "Of course you did." Rose lets out a frustrated noise.

 

"...I'll manage the Skrewts next week," she says, eventually.

 

Scorpius finally meets her eyes, and something in her is fiercely satisfied. "You'll cover for me when I bunk class," he says. "Also, you'll write my Demiguise essay."

 

Rose stares him down. "I won't cover for you. But I'll do the essay. And the bowtruckle diagram."

 

He laughs, short and sweet, and sticks out a hand to shake. "You're terrible at bargaining, Weasley," he says. He gives her a smirk. "I can't believe you agreed to the essay - have fun with those ten inches."

 

"Well, it's more than I normally get," says Rose, innocently, and walks inside to the gratifying sound of her worst enemy choking on air.

 

*

 

December is a terrible month for N.E.W.T. students.

 

"Fuck," says Rose, succinctly. "Merlin's saggy fucking balls, fuck, _fuck_ \- "

 

"Profanity in the library! Your mother would be disappointed."

 

"Don't even _mention_ my mother," snarls Rose, whipping around and pointing her wand in his pointy face. She's satisfied when he goes a shade paler at the way it sparks, ready for a fight.

 

She forces herself to take a breath. "You're not going to like this either," she says. "You're interviewing with the Berlin DMLE, right?"

 

He blinks. "How did you know that?" he asks, and she thrusts the headmistress's note at him.

 

" _Dear Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Weasley_ ," it says. " _As you are the only two students hoping to study in Germany after their N.E.W.T. year, I have taken the liberty to arrange your requested interviews with the German Ministry on the same day. On Saturday, January 21, the two of you will be provided a Portkey and a 20-Galleon stipend to travel to Berlin, give your interviews, and enjoy the rest of the day as you see fit. Thank you for your hard work, and I wish you the very best for your years beyond Hogwarts_."

 

For the briefest moment, Rose entertains the hope that Scorpius and his smugly casual beach curls are as shocked as she is, but it's swiftly dashed.

 

"A day in Berlin," says Scorpius, smirking. "Never thought I'd take you somewhere so classy."

 

"You're not taking me anywhere," says Rose, with less vehemence than she intended. "If anyone's in charge here, it's going to be me. I highly doubt you know how to use the metro."

 

"You'd be surprised," he says. At her raised eyebrows, he shrugs. "I've listened to you prattle on about the Hover Charm's applications on the London Underground and combustion engines for hours on end, Weasley. One does tend to pick up at least something."

 

Rose can't quite meet his eyes, the knowledge that he actually listens to her babble sitting uncomfortably in her stomach.

 

"Although," he continues, "most of what I pick up is how annoying your voice is - "

 

She flicks her wand and blasts him into the nearest set of bookshelves. "Damn," she says, swiftly packing her bag to the tune of Scorpius's stumbling and Madam Pince's angry footsteps. "I almost thought you might be a good person, for a moment, there," she says.

 

He smirks, again. "You're going soft, Weasley. Get it together, or going to Berlin will be like forcing down a cake from Madam Puddifoot's." They both shudder. The Hogsmeade horror known as Madam Puddifoot's is one of the few things they agree on.

 

*

January is probably the worst month, for N.E.W.T. students. Perhaps the worst month in general, Rose thinks viciously.

 

They have adjoining rooms at _Der Tanzende Steifel_  (which apparently means the Dancing Boot, what the _hell_ ), which means that she has been stuck in close company with Scorpius Malfoy for the last - they took the Portkey at five and it's now noon, so - seven hours.

 

_Seven hours._

 

(Scorpius did, in fact, know how to use the metro. He also counted out Muggle money without a hint of discomfort, and was dressed sensibly in a Muggle outfit of a olive green button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, tight black jeans, and Vans. Rose suspects this is part of the reason why she's so angry.)

 

The asshole himself is currently out of the inn; his interview was at 11:30, and Rose's is at 2:00. She's attempting to reread her notes in peace, but her mind keeps turning back into a mess of roiling anger.

 

(The other reason she's so angry involves the Muggle shopkeeper who grinned at the two of them when they stopped for coffee on the way to _Der Tanzende Steifel._ He'd asked a cheerful question in German, to which Scorpius had grinned and responded, bumping her shoulder with his. She had rolled her eyes, the shopkeeper had looked delighted (for no reason Rose could determine) and pressed a box into their hands, refusing payment. " _Teilen_ ," he had said, and winked at her. Outside, she had opened the box to find a heart-shaped pastry, and Scorpius had burst into wheezing laughter. She had punched him only because she couldn't hex him in public, but it hadn't made her feel better, especially after they split the cookie anyway.)

 

Rose shakes herself and forces herself to focus on the notes in front of her: an idea for a magic-conducting circuit board, the basis of what Rose hopes to make into an Arithmancy digital calculator. Just as she begins losing herself in the layering of the bronze and copper, the door slams wide open.

 

"You have your own room," says Rose, not bothering to look up. "Did he recognize what a smarmy git you are, then?"

 

When she's met with silence, she huffs. "If you're not going to say anything, leave."

 

"I got it," says Scorpius, finally. "I got the apprenticeship." Rose frowns. He sounds surprisingly subdued.

 

"Not here to gloat?" she asks, sitting up. He's rubbing his face, looking exhausted and relieved, and Rose is abruptly, strangely conscious of her ponytail and bare feet.

 

"Nah," he says, meeting her eyes. "Thought I'd wish you luck."

 

Her shock must show on her face, because his lips tilt up. "Thanks," she says. "But if you're staying here - "

 

"Yeah, yeah," he says, on the edge of a laugh. "See you." She tilts a hand in response, and the door clicks itself softly shut behind him.

 

*

 

March. March is definitely the most goddamn stressful month for hapless, innocent N.E.W.T. students.

 

"Tentacula Pods, now," says Scorpius, crisply. "And I hope for your sake that the Bubotubers are already wrung out."

 

"I'm not an idiot," says Rose, breathing shallowly to avoid the fumes, known to cause dizziness and spontaneous bursts of steam from one's ears. She passes over the Tentacula pods. "Cut the boomslang, I'll take over the stasis charm. The Bubotuber skins are at your left elbow."

 

"Add the doxy venom, then. Do you have the seashell?"

 

Scorpius passes the venom over, and Rose counts out doxy drops to the sound of each incoming wave.

 

"Shit," says Scorpius. "The knotgrass. We forgot the knotgrass."

 

"If we put it in now, but roughly chopped instead of whole, its potency increases and it shouldn't have a side effect besides slight constipation," says Rose, still watching the eyedropper. "17, 18, 19. Add it now, with the Boomslang."

 

The Boomslang skin and chopped knotgrass are tossed into the bubbling brew, and it turns a gelatinous green.

 

"Too bright," says Rose, squinting. "Lemon juice?"

 

"Orange," says Scorpius.

 

With the orange juice, and a dash of cinnamon, the potion fades to a pleasant kelly green, and they let out twin sighs of relief.

 

"Two hours," says Rose, wiping her forehead. "Let's get something to eat."

 

"Cinnamon?" asks Scorpius, later, as he bites into a slice of shepherd's pie. Rose looks up, taking the cooling charm off her flushed face.

 

"What?"

 

"Cinnamon," repeats Scorpius. "It's known for its role in Amortentia, especially as an aphrodisiac. Why would you put it in a Dialysis Potion?"

 

Rose sits down next to him, picking up her own pie. "The knotgrass was going to cause constipation, and slow down the dialysis. Cinnamon doesn't work as an aphrodisiac in potion making, though most people think so - it's more about loosening inhibitions - "

 

"So you thought it would work as a laxative?" says Scorpius, raising an eyebrow.

 

"No," she says, punching him in the shoulder and ignoring his laughter. "Well, yes, but it should prevent clotting as well. And if the patient ends up acting a little drunk, it's not too big of an issue."

 

"It better not be," says Scorpius, but he doesn't sound too concerned.

 

"You trust me?" asks Rose, because it needs to be said.

 

Scorpius smirks at her. "I wouldn't go quite that far. But with this? Yeah, I think you're not a total screwup."

 

Rose punches him in the arm, again, and this time, he actually winces. "Enough, Merlin."

 

"You deserved it," she says, but she's smiling.

 

*

 

May, thinks Scorpius, is the worst month for N.E.W.T. students.

 

While the other years finish with their exams in two weeks, N.E.W.T. students sit three-hour long sessions for the full month. When the sixth-years are out tanning by the lake, the seventh-years stay in, working to finish graduation requirements and finalize summer jobs.

 

Most importantly, while other students play Quidditch, Scorpius has to watch.

 

It's a stipulation of his father's; if he's going to Germany, he needs to have top N.E.W.T. marks. The one condition of playing Seeker on the Slytherin team this year was that if Slytherin qualified for the final match - the one during exam season - he wouldn't play.

 

So here he sits, watching Rose Weasley and her bright red hair block every goal that Slytherin tries to put away; watching the Gryffindor lead climb higher as the green emeralds begin to dwindle.

 

He gives it up as a lost cause, and turns back to his Arithmancy diagrams. Before long, a massive cheer goes up on the other side of the stands, where boisterous knot of red and gold has begun to wreak victorious havoc. Scorpius rolls his eyes and snaps his textbook shut. He shouldn't have come.

 

There's a rush of wind, ruffling his hair, and he flicks it back from his eyes irritably. He has to blink when the figure in front of him is wearing scarlet instead of green.

 

"Weasley," he says, and frowns at the look on her face; her eyes clearly suggest that she read his confusion like a tarot deck. "Your hair blended with your robes, I almost didn't see you," he defends, but it's weak.

 

"Now that we've established I'm the better Quidditch player - "

 

"I wasn't even _playing_ \- "

 

" - and you've got your head on straight - "

 

"Merlin, have you done a _Sonorus_ , _everyone's listening_ \- "

 

" - go out with me."

 

"What," says Scorpius, flatly.

 

"Go out with me," repeats Rose Granger-Weasley to Scorpius Malfoy.

 

Nothing is making sense.

 

"You, me, Hogsmeade," says Weasley, apparently taking his silence for acceptance. "Next Saturday, yeah? After History of Magic."

 

It must be exam stress, he decides. There's no way this is real; he's heard that stress can produce vivid dreams, especially after too much staring into a crystal ball -

 

"Well?" says Weasley, tapping her foot.

 

"I'm hallucinating," says Scorpius, slowly. "Right?"

 

Rose's mouth pulls into a smirk. "Does it change your answer?"

 

He blinks. "Um. No."

 

"No, as in it doesn't change, or - "

 

"No. Yes. I mean. Just - " he attempts desperately to form a coherent sentence. "No Puddifoot's."

 

Rose looks highly amused. A roar of sound erupts over the stadium, and Scorpius desperately tries to figure out why.

 

"I'm not a moron," she says, easily. "Thanks for proving you are, though." Her arms pops up in a cheery wave as she remounts her broomstick and is gone in a whoosh of finely oiled twigs.

 

Scorpius has to sit down.

 

*

 

(Maybe June won't be so bad.)

**Author's Note:**

> teilen: to share, in German, according to google translate
> 
> guess what I love fluff and college apps are killing me. pls come yell in the comments or my inbox @bollywood-and-phoenix-feather.tumblr.com :D


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